“You doing okay?” I ask him, straightening and glancing at the line of people zigzagging down the stairs we’ve been working on the past few days. My chest expands as satisfaction courses through me. From where I’m standing, I watch one person pass a bucket of concrete to the next, inching toward me.
“Yeah. I could use a cold beer. You?”
“I’m good,” I say, flexing my fingers to keep the blood flowing. “Really good.”
He claps his hand on my shoulder, smiling. “Great to hear. Tortured Solomon won’t be making a reappearance, I assume?”
I laugh and shake my head. “This is me. Being here and helping people, ministering . . . I feel complete. But I—miss her, miss her smile and just being with her.”
“So, what’s stopping you from being with her?”
Good question. Coming on this trip helped put things into perspective. With minimal distraction and quiet nights dedicated to self-reflection, I’ve had quality time to think about my life. Discover who I want to be, where I want to be five years from now.
When I approach Grace, I want to be all in; mind, body and soul. That’s what I should tell Gerry, but I’m not brave enough to say the words out loud.
Father Paolo, the priest at the local church sat me down for a talk when we arrived. Even after telling him about what happened between Grace and me he just nodded like it was a normal occurrence.
What he said after that stuck with me.
“How will you know who you are if you never step outside your comfort zone?” he asked in a heavy accent, his gaze on me steady and patient. “Use this mission as an opportunity to find out who you are, who you want to be. You can only do that if you let go of your fear.”
Most days, it’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon before we break for the day. After spending the day in the sun, all I want to do is take a shower and stuff my face with a good meal.
We finally settle inside the van we use as transportation to and from the family-run lodge where we’re staying. I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes as a smile forms on my lips.
This is what peace feels like. The utter quietness of my mind is addictive, no anxiety or self-doubt. I feel—I feel like a part of me has been unlocked and the world around me is filled with possibilities. After the last month, I feel closer to God than I’ve been in a while and my feelings for Grace haven’t diminished.
When I get to my room at the lodge, I jump in the shower, then pull on a pair of clean shorts and a T-shirt. Grabbing my laptop from the desk drawer, I power it on and log on to Facebook. I click on Grace’s profile, then spend the next ten minutes browsing through the latest photos of her and MJ taken in Paris. Then, I open Messenger and find a message from Ivan.
Hey, man. When are you flying back? You doing okay, though? Still one of us? You haven’t changed your mind and gone back to be a priest, have you? I spoke to MJ. Both girls are doing great. Grace still misses your ass. I don’t know if you want to know that. Thought I’d help a brother out and give up the info. ☺
I chuckle and reread the message before replying.
Hey, smartass. Things are great. Still one of you. I’ll be flying back home in August. Thanks for the update, man. I freaking miss her, too. More updates appreciated. ☺
After sending the message, I power off my laptop and put it back inside the drawer. I crawl in bed and lie on my back, folding my arms behind my head.
I’m finally okay with what I feel for her. Luke was right; I can still serve God and be with Grace—if she’ll have me back.
Late August . . .
It’s been two weeks since I arrived home from Europe. MJ had to fly back one month earlier to catch up with her summer classes. After she left, I traveled to Florence from Vienna by train, then spent the next few weeks working in a quaint little restaurant, near Ponte Vecchio, that needed an English-speaking waitress.
Traveling on my own was intimidating at first, but I got used to it. The experience was daunting and eye-opening at the same time, but I feel like I’m in a good place. I’ve had time to unpack my baggage and work through it one bit at a time. One good thing that came out of the trip is that the constant ache from missing Sol has lessened. I’m ready for a fresh start. I promised myself to keep an open mind to new experiences and to try and meet new friends. Gone is the old Grace who loved hiding in her shell. I’m ready to tackle the world head first.
Bring. It. On.
Mom and Chris dropped me off at college a few days ago for orientation. She and I drove in her car and Chris drove in mine because I didn’t want to leave it behind. Before she left, Mom promised to call every day to check on me. She wasn’t joking.
It’s the last Friday of the week before classes start. I’m already feeling homesick. Mom and I had very little time to catch up before I packed my things and they drove all the way Northford, Connecticut. There’s no way I’m going to give her any indication that I miss her, or she’ll probably get in her car and drive all the way to spend the next few days with me.
Being away from home has been good for both of us. She and Christopher are going strong, and I’m happy for her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mom asks over FaceTime, her brows pinching in concern. “Do you need anything? You know, food, money, your favorite purple blanket—”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’ve just spent the last few months hopping around Europe. Believe me, I’m good,” I reassure her.
The screen blurs for a few seconds before it clears, and her face comes back into view.
She wipes her wet cheeks just as Christopher appears on the screen.
He wraps one arm around my mom’s shoulders and kisses her hair before turning to the screen. “Hey, kiddo. You doing okay?”
I nod, my mouth splitting into a big grin. “You two look so cute.”
He chuckles. “We do, don’t we?”
I cup a hand to my ear. “Do I hear wedding bells in the air?” I tease.
“I’m just waiting for your mom to say yes,” Christopher says. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
Mom rolls her eyes playfully and says, “We haven’t known each other long enough. You can’t ask a woman to marry you after dating her for only six months.”
“According to whom?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Me,” Mom says, covering her cheeks with her hands, flustered.
“Mom. Just say yes and put him out of his misery.”
Christopher beams and mouths, “Thank you.” Mom glares at me as if I’ve betrayed her, and I laugh.
“I’d love to continue chatting, but I have to go,” I say.
“Do you have any plans? Met any boys who’ve caught your interest?” Mom asks, beaming with hope.
“Nope,” I say with a roll of my eyes. She deflates a little. “But I’ll let you know once I do.”
She smiles again.
After saying goodbye, I grab the notebook on the table, shove it inside my backpack, then head for the door. Seconds later, I’m leaving Beckett Hall and walking down Mitchell Avenue.
I’d thought about staying to finish writing my five-year plan, but the problem with silence as my companion is that my thoughts have a habit of spinning back into the past.